Thoughts After Murder
by WickerB
Summary: The newest Death Eater who has killed the Dream Team wonders about whether it was the right thing to do.


Author's Notes: I thought this would bee a neat little thing to put up for no reason at all. Besides, I have nothing else to do. *An anvil labeled "Harry Potter and the Plot Parody" falls on author's head* All right, so I'm lying. But other than that, I have nothing to do. *More anvils fall down labeled "Homework", "Studying" and "Other stories"* Aieeeee! Just read already!

Disclaimer: I own not. You sue not. You try to sue me, you waste time. 

I look down at my hands. They don't look any different. The same old pale skin is still there, and the nails are as clean cut as ever. Yet this perturbs me. 

They should be covered in blood. I squeeze my eyes shut. They should be covered in their blood…

Ronald Weasley, age 17, 6'2". Red hair, large eyes. That is what one could see when they looked at him. I thought I had only looked at him, and that was all he was to me. Yet I knew a little more about him, didn't I? I knew that he was particularly susceptible to Veela charms, and that he had a proud streak. 

His face had turned purple that first time he had seen me. I had supposed that was his way of blushing, and had found it rather annoying. He called Kakaroff a "lousy biased scumbag" when the man had given Harry an unfair scoring in the Tournament, even though he had been very mad at Harry beforehand. He helped save Gabrielle in the Second Task. Ron had even been bold enough to ask a ¼ Veela to the Ball, even though afterwards he realized that it was a foolish thing to do. He had always seemed to be, when I saw him, cracking a joke, complaining about a professor, or discussing the latest Quidditch strategies. He also seemed very willing to defend his friends' honour on more than one occasion.

How could I have killed someone like that?

Hermione Granger, the perfect pupil. Top of every class, a Prefect, and even Head Girl. But there was more to her than the books, wasn't there? She stuck by Harry and Ron no matter what the argument or the trouble, and did her best to keep the peace and keep them together. The voice of reason, the voice of comfort, and the voice of knowledge. She didn't seem particularly fond of me, and I of her. I know I personally spread my opinion with my friends that her smile made her look like she came back from a Muggle dentist appointment with novocaine still in her cheeks. I regret that now. 

She never gave up, and gave everything her best effort. Hermione was the one Viktor Krum chose to go to the Yule Ball with, even though he had the full selection of gorgeous fan girls to choose form. It was because he could see that she was a nice girl, a caring girl. He took that from what he saw when she was with her friends. I didn't see it until now.

Did she really deserve what I gave her, after all?

And Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The saviour of the world. He wasn't anything I quite expected, either. I expected a boy bloated by his ego and reputation, strutting about the halls as if he owned them. But he didn't want his fame at all. Harry downright avoided it as much as he could. It puzzled me, because I knew of plenty that would devastate the world just to be him for one day. He didn't even want to go in the Tournament. When he was announced, the whole school turned on him. I did, too. And so he kept to himself, trying hard to be normal, trying not to be recognized for something he didn't even remember. I should've seen that as being modest, not stuck-up and sulky like I first did. 

But then he surpassed in the First Task, and saved Gabrielle in the Second. I saw him as a hero, and came to admire him. He even risked his life to bring Diggory's body back, and he tortured himself over the poor boy's death. It hurt me to see him shattered like that, just when I had seen him so full of life. I defended him when people gossiped about him plotting the murder himself. I told him I'd see him again someday.

What have I done?

It wasn't my fault. I was only following orders! Master would have killed me if I disobeyed, and I promised to follow his ways for the rest of my life. I thought I saw a losing battle, so I went to what I thought was the winning side. But they were winning, and I killed them. 

But Voldemort would have killed my family, or me! I was only doing – no. I was only saving myself. That is Wormtail's feeble excuse, and I am not Wormtail.

But now I guess I am, in a way. I have stooped to his level. I have sinned.

Forgive me, whatever great entity is out there. I didn't want to kill them. It pains me to think of what I have done. I am sorry! I am remorseful!

Aren't I?

Aren't I?


End file.
